Page 10 of Unexpected Shot
“Both?”
The one word comes out of both of us simultaneously. What in the world could Ethan want to see us both about? We don’t have any of the same corporate sponsors—I made sure of that. And I don’t remember seeing one of Ethan’s famed charity projects on the calendar. At least, not one that would require both of us being there, let alone having an in-person meeting about.
“Yes, both,” the blonde woman says. “Please, come on back.”
Confused, we look to each other, before looking back at…Shit. What’s her name? I hate not remembering other women’s names, but in my defense, Ethan goes through secretaries like some people go through underwear.
Beau extends his hand for me to go first. If it were any other man on the planet, I’d think he was being a gentleman. But it’s Beau, so I know better.
“What did you do?” I whisper-hiss as we walk down the long hallway to Ethan’s corner office.
“Me? I didn’t do shit. I should be asking you that,” he hisses back.
“You know I didn’t do anything,” I whisper-yell. “You probably said something on a stupid video and somehow involved me as well.”
“Sure, Belle. That’s exactly what I did. Because you’re my favorite person to talk about on my channel.” His sarcasm is noted. “Also, how would you know that? From your heavy social media presence? Were you tagged in a relentless amount of videos from when I talked about you? Or better yet, did you watch?” His sneer morphs into a smirk. “Aw. I knew you were a fan.”
“Quit calling me that,” I bite. “And I don’t need fucking social media.”
“Whatever you say. But I bet your bank account would disagree.”
I have strong opinions, and strong dislikes, for many things in life. Interviews. Tournaments that think it’s still the beginning of Title IX and mandate the female golfers wear skirts. Social media in all forms.
But what I hate more than anything ever? Admitting when Beau Devereaux is right.
Blech. I want to puke in my mouth just from the thought of it.
But he is. I know it. So does he. My bank account would benefit from a few more sponsorships and endorsements. And I know that comes from being on whatever video app is trending. Or at least with having a social media account that has more than a couple three-plus-years-ago photos on it.
I just want to play golf. Is that too much to ask?
Maybe that’s what this meeting is about. Maybe Ethan has finally had it with my lack of social media interest and is bringing in Beau to show me what opportunities I’m leaving on the table by refusing to be online. It would be a desperate move by my agent. He knows I’m not Beau’s biggest fan—what he doesn’t know is the lifetime of lore that goes behind my hatred.
He knows we grew up together and played against each other in our youth. He knows his sister is my best friend. He knows I’d rather play an entire round of golf with just my putter than ever join forces in a business venture with him.
But the reasons behind that? No one knows. Not even Gabi. Just me and Beau, even though he denies it.
Beau and I stand just outside the door of Ethan’s office. Our agent is on the phone, but he waves us in and signals us to have a seat.
“Ladies first,” Beau says.
“I don’t need your fake chivalry,” I retort, but I do take the opportunity to walk through the door first. Only because I want a certain chair. “Also, why are you being nice to me?”
“I can be nice,” he whispers as I take a seat. “You just choose not to see it.”
“I choose not to believe lies,” I spit back. “Because that’s what you do. You lie.”
His eyes narrow at me. “Watch it, Shelby. You really want to get into this here?”
Fuck. He’s right. Again. How can this happen so many times in one day?
I want to say something smart back, but I can’t. I don’t want this to turn into a scene while Ethan is taking a call.
“Yes. I have them right here,” Ethan says, looking at both Beau and I. “They’re going to be over the moon about this opportunity. Send over the details so I can have them sign off on it. It’ll be finalized before by E.O.D.”
Bold of him to assume I’m signing anything, especially if it has anything to do with the man sitting next to me whose cologne is annoyingly perfect.
“Thank you both for coming,” Ethan says as he hangs up on the call.
